


New York, New York

by SegaBarrett



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Roger responds to an ad.





	New York, New York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chickenshithypocrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenshithypocrite/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Rent and make no money from this.
> 
> Content Warning: Brief mention of foot fetishes and drug use.

“Well, here we are,” Roger Davis declared, more to himself as there wasn’t anyone around him actually paying attention to anything he was doing, “Here in New York at last. A dream come true. Next stop, superstardom.”

It had been a really stupid idea. Roger knew this. It would have made a lot more sense to stay at home and build up some money doing “real work” like his father always called it. He could have gotten him some construction gig, or maybe he could have lowered himself and did some retail. Or maybe a barista gig or something, serving up expresso to overworked college kids. 

Anything instead of loading himself on a Greyhound bus at 2 in the morning and sitting in the back in between a guy talking about how he had just enlisted in the military and a guy talking about how “you should never take a shower on acid, because you get trapped in the bubble world.”

He wasn’t worried. Roger Davis had decided that he was never going to be worried a single day in his life. There was no point in being worried, because after a certain point in life, everything bad that could happen to a person had already happened to him.

And Roger had decided that that point had been yesterday evening.

He knotted his hands together and decided that the first thing to do would be to figure out where he was going to live. He could make some money busking and worse came to worse he could hide out here in Port Authority, but having a permanent roof on his head would probably assist in his music career.

As luck would have it, there was a half-ripped newspaper sitting right under his feet. He scooped it up and flipped to the For Rent ads, his eyes opening a bit wider as he looked at the going rates for Manhattan apartments. Could anyone actually afford these prices without being a millionaire?

And then he saw one at the corner of the page; it was as if it had been dog-earred by fate and thrust into Roger’s consciousness. 

“Roommate needed. Pay what you can, price negotiable. Just need roommate. Please call Mark at…” And then a phone number.

He figured he could get along with paying what he could, though he wondered how many inappropriate phone calls Mark had already received. Maybe he wasn’t even going to accept anyone else who called for this ad anymore.

Roger scooped up the nearest payphone and stuck a few grimy quarters into it, after successfully prying them off of each other. He pressed in the number, let out a frustrated sigh, and let it ring. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to lug his guitar around all night; he really needed this to work out. Whoever this Mark was, hopefully he wasn’t too weird.

On the third ring, he heard a voice that sounded like it was in mid-chew say, “Yeah. Hello? This is Mark.”

“I’m calling about the ad.”

“Uh… Ah… Yeah. The roommate ad, right?’

“Did you have another ad up?”

“Well, no…” 

Roger got the address from Mark and hung up the phone before it could request another quarter; he was going to have to hang on to them after all.

***

“So… you play guitar?” Mark asked when Roger dragged his guitar and duffel bag into the apartment and stared at him.

“Yeah. I mean… That’s my plan. Join a band, or stay solo. Just write a really great song and then I’ll be good. Just the one great song, the one everyone remembers. Start with a good riff, and it’s cake from there.” Roger knew he was blathering, but it was cold outside. It was kind of cold in here, too, but it was all relative.

“Well, uh, that’s cool. I’m a director.”

“What kind of movies?”

“Documentaries, really. Like… You know, about the serious stuff.”

They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like an excessively long time.

“So, uh, there’s one other roommate. Collins. He’s kind of… well… he won’t get in your way. I mean, we’ll probably all get in each other’s way. My ex-girlfriend’s stuff is still all over the place. And our landlord used to live here but he moved out. Now we live here rent-free. But I thought that if I put that in the ad, it would look like I was looking for … uh, a sugar baby or something.”

“Then why do you need a roommate anyway, if you’re living here for free? Wouldn’t you want more space?”

Mark shrugged.

“It used to be four of us and then… I guess it felt kind of lonely. Figured I would put in an ad and see who answered.”

“Yeah, well, I was looking for a sugar daddy,” Roger said dryly.

Mark chuckled. 

“Well, we’ve already got one of those, so you’ll have to come back another day. But really… if you want to move in here… I think we could find a place for you.”

“You don’t want to know where I see myself in ten years?” Roger quipped. He couldn’t believe his luck. It had to be that this guy and his friend and his landlord were all serial killers. That was the only possible explanation.

But living here rent free? With a bunch of serial killers? That didn’t sound half-bad, actually. And truth be told, there was something in Mark’s eyes that drew him in, something about the awkward smile he kept flashing at Roger, like he really wanted him to say yes.

“What other offers did you get?” Roger asked, curiously.

“A lot of inappropriate ones,” Mark replied, “I was about to take the phone off the hook.”

“Like what?” Roger asked, a small smile creeping across his face.

“Oh, you don’t even want to know. A lot of people asking what my feet look like.”

“Well, what do your feet look like?” Roger retorted, looking around for another place to leave his guitar. 

“Uh, right over there in the corner, and there’s a bed right there, unless you want to order a new one and try and bring it in. It’s not bad. My ex left it here. And my feet look… like feet. I think.”

“I guess I could sleep in your ex’s bed,” Roger said, giving him a look. 

“And I’ll let you,” Mark teased with an awkward, slow laugh. He reached out and patted Roger’s shoulder. “It’s nice to have you. Here, I mean. As a roommate. You’ll like Collins. I mean, or maybe you won’t.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Roger replied, rubbing at his eyes. “Right now, I think I’ll like to meet that bed. It was a four hour bus ride…”

“Gonna make it big in the big city?” Mark asked, gesturing to the guitar again.

“Something like that.”

“Will you need a roadie?”

“Maybe a groupie.”

Mark gave him a look that Roger couldn’t quite read. Why had he said something like that? What if Mark thought he was weird and decided he didn’t want some weird person living where he could easily kill Mark in his sleep?

“Well… that depends,” Mark replied after a long, awkward moment. 

“On what?” Roger asked, moving towards the bed.

“Are you going to write a song about me?”


End file.
